141: Hunting Stetchkov
by Dragon2323
Summary: Join ex-Ranger Staff Sergeant Jonathan "Echo" Hartley through his journey tagging along with Soap, Price, Ghost and the rest of the gang, and uncover intelligence that would change the tide of "Finding Kingfish" forever, from the Corporal days to Staff Sergeant bliss.. I bring you. . Hunting Stetchkov. T for descriptions of near-graphic amounts of violence. R&R, gents.
1. Bloodhound

"The spoils of war are not uncommon.. the power to change history would seem to be enough.." a British voice begins to speak out. "But.. sometimes, that is not all to the warriors of greed.." A lighter is clicked. It begins to highlight features of the figure's face.. revealing it to be Captain John Price. As his voice fades, the sounds of war spread.. explosions. Gunfire. Voices.

Vision seems to zoom out as he withdraws a M4A1 SOPMOD. He pats in a new magazine, pulling back on the slide, loading a 5.56x round into the chamber. You can see woodland features spread around the location, and as it properly zooms out, there's a pathway down a mountain. "Come on, Corporal. We're not doing anything to win by sitting around like this."

_5:53 AM, EST._

_Task Force 141_

_Cpl. Jonathan "Echo" Hartley_

_Operation "Recognition"_

Echo looks down, towards what he has on him. That turns out to be a M4A1, with a vertical grip and a Eotech sight. He pulls along the slide, ejecting a casing from the chamber, before looking up to Price, who reaches down towards his radio. "Soap! We're going to be rappelling from the mountain side to insertion!" Echo turns around, towards the ammo crate he was sitting on, popping it open with a quick swing upwards with a crowbar. He grabs several spare magazines; just about thirteen, worth 35 rounds per with the extension. At the bottom, is a set of rappeling ropes and latches.

He swings upwards with the rope in his hand, "Alright," Price nods, holding his M4A1 in an alert carry form. He lets go of the weapon, which is now slung over his side, and he withdraws his own rappeling gear. Echo, forgetting what location they were at for a couple of moments pauses, before looking at his camoflauge, which was a woodland camoflauge. Latching the rappeling gear onto his tactical vest, he completes the proper setting.

Echo tosses his leg over first, before gripping the rope tightly, scratching his gloves a little, looking to Price. "Your go, old man," his voice speaks up, in an American tone, which is rather uncommon by far, even for the Task Force with many nationalties. Price nods, which leads Echo to toss off of the rappeling rope, swinging downwards, pressing his legs, which began to buckle, with his connection to the slope. "So, Price," he sighs, before pressing off, turning into a light yell, "Who's the HVI this time?"

They reach the end of the slope eventually, disconnecting from their rappeling gear, Echo raises his weapon, crouching. He looks around, eyes darting, but then focusing on his weapon- unsilenced. _'I'm a dumbass,'_ he sighs to himself, slowly twisting on the suppressor. When his weapon was prepared, Price had made it down the slope. He pats Echo's shoulder, before beginning to move. Echo slips up, and begins to follow Price. He can't help but let his keen eye toss around the location.

The sound of steps on the undergrowth would alert animals to their presence, but yet not their current enemies. Echo's eyes highlight what was on Price's back- a M24, a somewhat uncommon sniper rifle to these times. Under the permittance, he steps a little slower, before finally pressing his back on a wall, which Price is looking past. "Alright, Echo.." he sighs, "Give me a boost, to the broken part of the wall." Echo slings his weapon over his shoulder with this, and then crouches down, prepared to let Price step on his hands.

Price runs up, before kicking off of Echo's hands, which provides a decent boost, and Price climbs up. Echo wipes his hand off on the wall, before withdrawing his handgun. "Suppressed weapons only for now, F.N.G." Price mutters over the radio, to which Echo held no reaction, as he already had his silencer on his Colt M1911. Ejecting the magazine, he checks his ammunition count to the magazines.

That turned out to be a great amount of ammunition, for a handgun with .45 ACP rounds loaded into it. Slipping his thumb over the backslide, he peeks past the wall._ 'Dammit, patrolling solo.' _He slowly raises his handgun, before stepping up behind the soldier. The soldier that was infront of him now was in a red-and-brown kind of camoflauge. Slipping his handgun into the holster, unsecured, he withdraws his M9 knife, slamming his gloved hand over the soldier's mouth as he digs the blade into the foe's throat.

At the sound of the soldier's breathing letting off, he withdraws the blade, dragging the body now, blade still in hand. Plopping the soldier down under the bushes, he checks the uniform over, at the most, "Price," he murmurs over the radio. "What?" was Price's response. "Are we facing the Russians?" Echo asks. "Yes, didn't you get the intel?" Price groans. "Bad guy on your right." Price informs him, and he withdraws his handgun, firing into the before-mentioned target's head twice. "Nudge the body away."

His eyes dart around the town as Price, above him, stamps out his cigar. "We've got to check the buildings when we link with Cap'n Mactavish." Echo sighs. "There's a tango over on the water tower. Taking him down, now." Price looks into the sights of the M24 rifle, overlooking the Russian's head, before twisting his finger a little, pulling the trigger. As if he expected it instantly, he realigns his shot, taking another to take down the sentry. Pulling back the bolt as he did with the previous round, the rounds from the AK-74 that were fired had been a very bad give-away that something was wrong.

"Crap! Going loud!" Echo yells a little, firing off two rounds from the M4A1 now, twisting his sights onto a Russian again, ramming his finger back down on the trigger, a pair of bursts in succession had only allowed for two rounds to find their way in the Spetsnaz's shoulderblade and skull. As if they were trying to ensure a bad day, there was RPD fire swinging down on Echo's position, giving him a reason to rush behind a barrel. "Fuck, Price..! Take the bastard out!" The next shot was unsuppressed, but from a different weapon- not a Sniper, nor a AK-based weapon. "Covering!" a Scottish voice calls out, in a rather heavy accent.

Gaining some courage, Echo begins to fire off rounds into several targets nearby. "Glad you could make it, MacTavish. Saved me from a body bag.." Echo calls over to Soap. "Don't damn mention it!" Soap yelled. Price was still providing sniper support. There were three others assisting Soap, and those were three other members of the Task Force. Simon "Ghost" Riley, Gary "Roach" Sanderson, and Echo couldn't figure out the third man. "Why the hell is there only a enemy squads-worth defending this town?" Echo yells to Roach, who shrugs lightly.

"Alright, I think we're in the clear," Soap said, as Echo lowers his weapon, dropping the mag, and gripping it, pocketing it. He tugs his Tac-Vest open, and withdraws a 5.56x35 round magazine, inserting it into the Carbine. "Establish a perimeter," Soap shouts a bit, whilst the others begin to work at it. Echo clicks his M4 on safety, and closes his eyes a light-bit, tugging a little on his Balaclava and his scarf.

((Cut-scene kind of time.))

"Okay, then." Soap presses his finger on a map. "We're going to be moving around the Town. Baseplate, from the S.A.S, has given us some ideas that one of our HVIs are around here. Our F.N.G," he looks at Echo with a slight glare, "had scratched over our previous attempt on saving this HVI. Command is going to be noticing this as Operation Silver Lining."

He hands Jonathan a page. The Objectives. He spreads the pages to everyone else.

1. Take out nearby SAM Sites.

2. Ensure the safety of other squadmates.

3. Team Two will ensure the request of air-based insertion.

4. Once completely secure, begin checking the houses for the HVI.

"The challenge is Terminal."

"Your countersign is Canine. HVI is noticed as Codename Wolf. Get moving, people." Echo looks up to Soap as MacTavish finishes speaking. He nods. "I'm hoping I'm not gonna let you down again."

"Better not, Corporal."


	2. Reassurance

The clearance for the operation was all that they needed. The message from Command had set in, and set in well, with clearance for their objectives. Echo knew that he was not on good standings with Soap, so it'd be best if he checked the buildings alone. He knew that one of the other patrols had their own issues with the previous town occupants, the Russians. When he saw a un-opened door, without a single dent on it, he pulls back the slide, activating the M4's upper-and-lower reciever. Raising the gun to the door, he pulled at the door's knob. Nothing.

_8:54 A.M, EST_

_Task Force 141_

_Cpl. Jonathan "Echo" Hartley_

_Operation "Recognition"_

_Subobjective "Silver Lining"_

He reaches his hand to his radio, looking up and down the building, the cobblestone walls working in well with the wood finish, "Soap, east-side of the town, I've found a building we've not checked yet. Four story, probably an apartment. I'll get to checking it," he speaks up, raising the rifle to the hinges, firing on both of them before slamming his shoulder into the door. Activating the tactical light which rested on the rifle, he leers around the dark room, realizing that he had been correct on how it was an apartment. Turning around, he checks around the corners, before proceeding to the hallway. Some of the windows had been broken, but that was probably just with how it all went on.

Beginning to lean on the edge of the wall near the hallway's opening, Echo looks deeper in. Beginning to move in, he raises the rifle, watching the doors closely, and intensely. His eyes could stare down the Devil at this point, and he would survive. Pressing on and down the hallway, he is alert to a suddenly opening door. The AK47 barrel poking through the door was enough to make him fire, and he makes himself known by eliminating the Russian infantryman, firing a few short bursts. The jamming of his M4A1 was enough to force him to grab the body, and the P99 on the body, clicking it's safety and raising it down the hallway, with it's flashlight on.

His hopes were little, and he looks down the hallway. Three more of the Russian force began to head down the hallway, having just rushed down the stairs. He fires the 9mm handgun repeativedly, firing about two per target, missing one of them with both shots. Using the body in his grip to soak up lead, he fires two more rounds, eliminating the final hostile combatant. Dropping the body, he places his other hand on the P99, holding the compact handgun in both hands. He could have withdrawn his own handgun and used both, but the situation did not call for that. Progressing down the hallway carefully, his reassurance was beginning to deplete. Heading up the stairs to the second level, leaving the patrol that Price would send down to progress through the rooms of the hallway on the first floor. He turns off the light, using his unused holster on his left leg to holster the P99, deciding to keep it on him for a while.

Withdrawing his knife with accurate skill, he places his hand in a clamping motion over the mouth of a Russian infantryman, dragging him into a free-room. Blade poking at the Russian's back, he decided to try and get some answers out of him. "Tell me something, eh?" Echo speaks, recognizing his fluency with Russian. "What- who- when- who are you?" The infantryman responds. "That's not important. Are you keeping someone in this building?" the voice of the infantryman was muffled by the hand and balaclava, but still possible to hear. "Yes-yes, we are. On the fourth floor! Can you let m-" the infantryman gasps, before the blade sinks deep into the invertebrae of his spinal cord, -"No."- effectively disabling him, if not killing him. Ripping the blade out bluntly, Echo sheaths it after wiping it on the body.

Withdrawing the P99 again, deciding against using his own weapon for a while, he begins to progress down the hallway. The constant ejection of ammunition was beginning to become the fruit of his labour as he fired whilst he continues up the stairway, aiming to eliminate as many as he could on his path to the target. Gripping one by the collar, he forcivedly twists him around, firing the P99 into the head of the second Russian paratrooper who had passed down through a door. The first had fired into the held third's stomach, killing him, forcing Echo to throw the body down. Firing a round into the head of the first, he begins to rush down the hallway, beginning to be creeped out by the atmosphere of the room.

The procedure was often, as he reached the fourth floor, reloading the P99 handgun. He looks around, turning on the flashlight attached to the handgun. His eyes dart around the hallway, the walls seemingly constrictive as he kicks in one door. Nothing. He pulls his leg back, before kicking in the next door. This was going to get boring, and quickly. He was alone, having looked out the window on the third floor, seeing them rushing down the road to the apartment building. Pushing further into the hallway, he slams his shoulder into the door. Nothing was what he had thought that he saw. The majority of an AK47 was constricting his ability to breathe. Having his grip on the P99 made it difficult to break free, but he twists his hand, firing repeativedly into the stomach of the trooper holding him, before flipping the body, eliminating the magazine by killing the next.

His hopes were effective that the small group would arrive to support him soon, he sighs a little, soaking up lead with his cover of a wall, ripping out the knife of a dead Russian trooper, throwing it sideways, stabbing into the lung of the currently living trooper. He looks around the room, activating the flashlight on the P99, loading the handgun. He could have sworn that he heard a noise near, but it was almost impossible. "Who's there?" his voice rings out through the cloth. A short figure is covered in the loving embrace of the shadows. "Terminal," they call out. The voice was definitely young, quite possibly only twelve. "Canine," Echo emits the countersign, causing the boy to exit the shadows. "Who're you?" Echo asks. "My name is Alex," he replies, "Look, kid, I need to get you out of here." Echo speaks up. "You're obviously out-manned. There's nine more in the building, against you." Alex speaks, the green-and-blue eyed combination blinking. The next line was nearly un-natural, complying with age.

"Give me a weapon." Echo couldn't help but comply, twisting the P99 around, offering it to the boy. He couldn't help but feel he was probably going to be in a trap eventually, but it was not going to turn up well without the support of the child come a gunfight. Alex's hand grips the P99, almost perfectly, in a firm grasp, before looking to Echo. "Do you know what you're doing?" Echo asked. "Yes," Alex sighs. Echo begins to exit the room, raising his M4A1, having unjammed it on the course of conversation. He turns to the right, the room that he exitted being on the far left of the hallway, the eighth room, and the last. Evading the small hall that lead to the stairs, Alex was following him rather closely, as if he couldn't expect to see properly, but that was almost true, considering Echo was the one with a flashlight.

Echo takes the lead, with Alex close behind him. "Stairs. Go." Echo notions him towards the stairs, aiming his rifle down the hall, before following Alex. Alex wasn't speaking quite much as he would be expected to, but it was not a likely situation considering the pending nine armed men in the apartment. Continuing down to the first floor, this was a simple representation of repitition, but Alex hands over the P99, back to Echo, who holsters it, leading Alex past the Task Force 141 patrol, slinging the rifle over his shoulder, walking by the kid, as the small group of '41 press into the building. "You know, I'm wondering what the fuck they needed a kid like you for." The childish nature of Alex was easily recognizable with what he said next.

"Oi, would you watch your mouth?"

((Oh boy, another cutscene.))

Soap looks from Echo to Alex, "So, John, what you are telling me is this boy knew the countersign and the challenge? How do you know it's not a trap?" Soap is interrupted by Price. "This is the kid, look at the picture, MacTavish," Price looks up from the desk, looking to Soap, then to the man and adolesence in the chairs. They knew not much of what was going on, and what the situation relied upon. "It's true, I'd guess. Baseplate's print never lies." Soap sighs. "So, what was the need of the Russians with you?" Soap leans down, eying Alex. "I know the location of a known target of the United States and the British." Alex speaks, undeniably. "Who?"

"Imran Stetchkov," Alex finished the short interview. "Tell me everything you know, kid." Soap requests firmly. "With pleasure." Alex sighs. Echo felt as if he was blacking out at the moment, currently unable to see anything.


	3. Exfiltration

"Imran Stetchokv ran a gun-sale ring, selling illegal assault weapons to American citizens, as well as many other nations' citizens. Governments deemed it was enough, and tried to make their strike, but they had been late. Imran was already off of the battlemap. Whilst his gun-ring was destroyed, his use of technology had brought up a device only dreamed of, a proccessor capable of overloading the power and water grid of an entire nation. He plans to strike with three of these, against the Chinese, Great Britain, and America." Alex's voice drowned out, with the shutting off of light.

The battlemap is suddenly, briefly highlighted. "What's the condition?" A gruff, Irish tone requests. "Well, to overlook the battlemap," a British tone speaks up, looking over a computer. "There's about fourty platoons, and three enemy Migs on the way." The voice continues. "God damnit, Marcus, we need that exfil in there. Now." The Irish man finishes. "Dispatching the choppers." Marcus speaks. "Good. They're going to need it."

_12:33 P.M. EST,_

_Task Force 141_

_Cpl. Jonathan "Echo" Hartley_

_Operation "Recogniton"_

_Subobjective: "Spartan's Wall"_

Echo looks around, before raising his M4. The sequence of the situation was not going well. "To all members of the Task Force in Kartushka, Gunfighter 1-1 and Gunfighter Actual are on the scene. Air Support is on a greenlight, boys." A crackling voice overwhelmed the static of the radio. They had been warned that the Russians were coming, and fast. Echo's chest was well covered, considering the use of the wall. They were intending to strike from the north, and that's where they had tried to cover up most.

His eyes ride along the road leading to the North. The shock that spread along his face was overwhelming. There were hopes that their cover would succeed with the arriving squadron and the BMP they escorted. Letting the M4 drop from his hands, hanging onto his vest, he withdraws a green-smoke flare, "Gunfighter 1-1, fire on the flare!" He lights it and throws it, underhand. The hill was nothing to the flare, which caught on a rock, luckily. The rising dust of the service road was knocking around constant amounts of dirt, and the revving guns of Gunfighter 1-1 were a powerful embrace, as the Miniguns on the Littlebird were spreading dust and lead on the incoming BMP, and the three infantry groups up by them.

The hazing sound of the guns overlighting the BMP were almost the proper doom. The blood that spread along the road with the BMP was in a large puddle. The last round fired by the BMP had struck Gunfighter 1-1's tail rotor, forcing the helicopter down. Soap was about to arrive to provide support, as Echo dives out of the way. The heavy metal helicopter bashed into the building, destroying it. The collision of metal against the stone had brought the building crumbling down. Echo's slung M4 hit the ground by him. "Gunfighter 1-1 is down!" the pilot, callsign Gunfighter Actual barked over the radio. Echo withdraws his handgun, taking no duty on the M4, forcing his way to his feet.

Sprinting over to the building, he fired a pair of .45 ACP rounds, the casing rolling their way in the mud. "Soap! Price! Can you handle this!?" He calls over the radio, before jumping, raising his legs, kicking in the door. He was sent falling down, before he dozingly rose from the ground, raising the M1911. The stairs were destroyed by the crash of the helicopter, and the shrapnel had cut through most of the windows, utterly destroying the house. The owners and what had happened to it were at the least of Echo's mind. He struggled to get up the stairs, leaping to get to the top, pulling himself up. Smoke had already filled the room with the spreading flame. Forcing the handgun into it's holster, he closed in on the helicopter.

He supported Gunfighter 1-1 in forcing open the cockpit, reaching his arm out. Gunfighter gripped his hand, the woman from the helicopter helping him pull her out. A MP5k was strapped to her side, and he began to try and get her down the stairs, carrying the wounded pilot bridal-style. Heading down the stairs, the gap was a breeze from their height, though controlling his legs on the impact whilst carrying the woman was difficult. "Soap! I've got Gunfighter 1-1! Call for a Casevac!" He bites his lip as he yells into the radio, setting Gunfighter 1-1 by a wall. Raising his handgun, having ripped it from it's holster, he fired several rounds off, the casings striking the ground. Keeping his hand on the gun, he looks down to Gunfighter, holstering his pistol, beginning to check over her wounds.

The familiar Scottish tone carries on. "Nikolai's coming! We've got thirty minutes!" Soap finishes speaking, looking over to Gary. "Get over there, and help him!" He yells, before crouching, 5.56mm rounds striking Russian bone. Royce, grip tight on a RPG-7, rushes out into the pathway, firing off the RPG. The rocket prepares it's self, before it's detonation on the last BMP of the ride. "We are in for a fuck-up.." Echo looks to Roach, who begins to work with Gunfighter on her wounds. "Gunfighter! Hit them with the mounted guns!" Echo yells. They were in a set of problems. They lost a Littlebird for Transport, and they might lose another. "Price! You got the rifle up there?"

"Yes, lad!" Price replied over the radio, pulling the bolt of the rifle. He was prepared to fire, and that he did. He took his mark, and eliminated one target. The spraying fury of ammunition funneling from Gunfighters' guns was near perfect, especially for the animalistic blood-spread mixing with the dirt. Twisting down, he looks up for a few seconds. Nikolai's helicopter was coming close. "Roach, I'll handle Gunfighter, go get Alex to Nikolai's helo." He speaks in a clear tone, gripping Gunfighter, lifitng the woman up. Nikolai was beginning to land near a building. "There is not enough space for all of you, da?" Nikolai calls out, not bothering to use the radio.

"We have four getting on!" Alex is set into the helicopter, Roach lifting him up. Echo rushes over, helping Gunfighter move. When they reached the helicopter, Roach lifts her up and gets her strapped into a seat, before strapping himself in. Price luckily rolls upon landing from the building he was perched on, rushing over to the helicopter. Soap began to run to the helicopter. Echo fires off rounds, covering Soap's escape. "Nikolai! They're firing RPG-7's! Wave off, wave off!" Echo yells. He was hoping he could handle them. "Gunfighter Actual! Cover Nikolai!" He wasn't going to be getting on this ride.

He begins to sprint, trying to find a car. Assault rifles sounded off as they attempted to hit the sprinting American. His hopes were lost and he was attempting to get his way over to the nearest vehicle. It was a rather old car, by the looks of it. Forcing the door open, he began to twist several wires together, using the M4 to bash off the compartment. The horn was quivering as he had forced his way into the car. Rounds fired into the passenger door and the hood. Slamming onto the gas, he spins his way around, beginning to follow the helicopters to the best of his ability. He was obviously in a bad situation. Alex began to use the radio on Gunfighter 1-1 to call out directions he needed to follow. "Left!"

"Right!"

"Keep going! Come on!" The vehicle continues to swerve on the uneven ground, and Echo is slapped in the face by reality as the car's passenger side is slammed into a spruce tree. He's forced out cold, and by the time he comes to, they're near Nikolai's chopper. Soap is pulling him by the arm, as Echo withdraws his handgun, firing rounds off at the surrounding Russians in the tree-line. His head was targeted in general by a migraine. He was hoping to live, but it was not necessary. His lower body swerved a little in the grass, flattening it. .

"Nikolai, go! Get us off the ground! NOW!" Roach yells. Soap had pulled Echo into the helicopter. "Go!" He barks, the Captain right up trying to get his men out of this situation alive, especially with this intel. The year of 2014 was a bitch to him, and he knew it..


	4. MINCHAP: Homebase

_5:33 A.M._

_Task Force 141_

_(Prev: Cpl)_

_Sgt. Jonathan "Echo" Hartley_

The time spent on base was almost un-natural, having not always spent a large amount of time on base. Withdrawing his hopes from the situation at hand, the constant movement of his hands as Echo typed away on the computer was enough to drive a man insane. The operation from before was a constant trouble in his mind, having been wounded a bit during that operation. He was already informed he was going to be kept away from active duty on the next mission for the Task Force, with Roach and Ghost. This was no simple problem, but it was not much of a problem to be considered.

He looks over the computer he was typing on. He had several windows open, including a internet browser, email, and a text document. He looks over to one of the other desks in the room, hearing Roach sit down. It was a couple hours before Roach and Ghost were being sent in on an op. "Gary," Echo calls out. "Jon," Roach responds. "..Douche." Echo childishly echos, hence his callsign. The general situation was simple but calm. "You know that promotion you were hoping for?" Roach continues. Echo was almost sent to a standstill. "Yeah?" He asks Roach. "It went through." Roach continues. Echo's eyes lightened up. With the hours of paperwork and the hard work he had provided for the Task Force, it was almost right to be hearing a Sergeant infront of his name.

"Thanks, Roach. Helped me out on that one, I guess." He continues to type into the text document. The general typing was nothing of much, a logging journal of sorts of what they had been through so far. "I owe you one," Echo nods to Roach, who simply continues their work on the computer. "You know what I'm wondering?" Echo continues on. He was making more noise than a rattle with how fast he was typing. "What?" Roach asks, looking at the twenty-four year old. "What I'm wondering is if I get a damn purple heart for that crap." Echo finishes his sentence.

"The entire treeline mishap?" Roach asks, lightening up just about barely. The usage of the computer was just about up, cleared as Roach logged off. "Yeah," Echo continues. "I don't think that's purple heart worthy, unless you know, you took three bullets to the side trying to pull someone." Roach drags on. "..Maybe you need to stop speaking for Captain MacTavish." Echo carries on, looking at Sanderson, then to the computer. When he saved the file he was working on, as to the log, which had gone on for about fourty days, the file's size escalated to about three megabytes. "Shit sakes, it's five in the morning. I guess I'm going to just go hit the bunks," Echo sighs.

"Probably for the best, Echo," his collegaue mentions. "Well, probably isn't much of a protective term." Echo notices, before just sighing and turning off the computer, starting to head along. Dressed in fatigues at about five in the morning in the middle of the damn desert was enough to be chilled about. Stepping along the cement that was layed down for the creation of the Task Force's currnet base in Afghanistan was a small racket, though for the trained ear, it was rather unpleasant to hear. Stepping on the ground, edging his weight to the side of his left foot, appearing to begin struggling with a limp, Echo heads over to the building, before walking in. The dispute that was going on was petty squabbling between Toad and Archer, something that he didn't need to get into.

The time was enough for a struggle just to go to sleep, having been staring at the computer screen since Echo got back on base. "So, Sergeant," Toad speaks up, starting to ignore Archer, leaning over the end of the cot, "Still got that wound, Toad, don't have to ask every night since it opened up." Echo groans a little, trying to get to sleep, beginning to attemp to ignore the other male who was probably just trying to get playing with him a little before they went to bed. Toad was the team's current medic whilst they were on base, rather than just being a douchebag, he decided to help out a little more. He was using the time to tease a little, but it was just a brother-like rivalry kind of thing.

The intense situation was enough for the wound to start spurting a little bit of blood, whetting the side of his shirt as he layed there on the cot, looking around roughly, before he began to close his eyes. The day had gone through enough for him at the time, and it was going to be less.. better, in the morning, when the time came to it. He knew that Roach was goiung to need that favor soon, and it was almost unbelievable when he might be able to restore that little tweak. When his breathing fell silent, it was obvious that Echo was asleep. Before he had fell asleep, Echo began to wonder a little about their little guest, Alex, but he could figure that stuff out in the morning.


	5. Imran's Story

_5:59 P.M._

_Major Imran Stetchkov_

_Paramilitary Russian Rebels_

_2015, 4th of July_

_Beachfront Catastrophe_

The swerving vehicle was not an issue. They were Russian born, and he was assured by his brothers in the Jeep that they would hold well and fast. They were swerving along the road, and were headed for a safehouse. Cooperating with law enforcement was the mean. Gripping the AK74u that sat in his lap, he pushed the stock into the side of the gun. Looking around and up, tightening the grip on the firearm, He adjusts his balaclava. "Up on the right," Imran's voice rung out. Pulling back the bolt to load a round into the chamber, the 7.62mm sub machine gun clicked with the collision of the bolt.

Looking over to the driver, Cpl. Andrei Karlof, the sudden grip of reality was enough to see that he was eliminated almost instantly, with the powerful collision of a L96A1's round. The British had been fighting against them constantly. The Special Air Service was being deployed on each of these strikes against these patriots, and the general well-being of their men was belittling. Imran reaches for the wheel, unable to reach it in time before the vehicle strikes into a tree. The sudden blunt of the blow was enough to knock the wind out of Stetchkov, who was forced out of the vehicle. The clattering of metal and wood on the ground alerted him that his AK74u was out of his grip now.

One member of the SAS begins to rush up, along with another man. The two were wearing masks, carrying M4 carbines. One had a Red Dot Sight mounted on it, but the other had an ACOG mounted. Imran's view was roughly stretched, trying to catch his breath through the heavy fabric. Gripping the ground, he tried to push himself up, before the stock of a M4 collided with his back, sending him down. A hand was placed on his back, the M4's barrel poking against the ground. "Sigma One-Four has found target Windwaker, over," they speak in a British tone. The other one, in a Scottish voice, "Come on, Price," they were obviously edgy. The one carrying the M4 with a ACOG raises it to another member of Imran's squad.

The firing of the 5.56mm round was enough to enrage Imran. He pushed himself up, timidly throwing Price off. Withdrawing Price's own pistol, and his own, Imran raises his Makarov towards the Scottish soldier, then the M1911 in his hand towards the British soldier. He wasn't in a proper form to withdraw on any blow, but he was still aiming the guns. Stetchkov would not allow his men just to be killed, unlike the unhonorable fascists in the World Wars. Captain John Price attempted to throw Imran to the ground, supported by the Scottsman. The Makarov and the .45 ACP M1911 slid away. Imran tried to break free from the S.A.S. duo, but was unable to reach the gun, even less. There was shame in the situation.

Imran attempted to withdraw his knife to end it all, raising it towards Price, "You will pay!" he echoes his thoughts in Russian. Price's eyes widen a little, but grips the hand trying to drive the knife into his throat. Price's grip on Imran's wrist forced the knife to hit the ground. "Soap! Now!" Price calls out to his squadmate. Soap batters into Imran's chest with the M4 Carbine's stock. The sudden bash was enough to knock the wind out of Imran. Dimitri and Sergei began to rush towards the two, defending their commanding officer. The Russians attempted to take on the Brit and the Scottsman, but were easily fought down.

Imran took his change with luck to grab his Makarov, and the AK74u, and begin running. The loss of the knife was an easy one to stand up to, holstering the Makarov as he could whilst he ran. Gripping the AK74u, he releases the stock, pressing it against the edge of his collarbone, lowering himself before the center of gravity. Using his momentum, he rolls, over the damaged shoulder, Imran raises the AK74u, beginning to raise his aim up to the moving S.A.S members. The Britt and the Scottsman had began to rush away, to regroup most likely. The evacuation of 7.62mm casings from the gun made a rattling noise as the brass hit the ground.

Imran's sights fell from the serial number, before rising in a spike to the ironsights of the weapon. The power of the ammunition had struck through the body armor of the group of Special Air Service operatives closing in on Major Imran. He was going to have called for support, had there been any chance for him. He was firing in short, rapid bursts, standing in the open, trying to keep himself firing and hold his position. "I need support on my position, three, six, nine, five!" Imran echoed into his radio, speaking from his mind.

Engaging the group of rapidly engaging S.A.S. operatives, he was trying to hold his ground as much as he could. Rounds were buzzing by the Russian, and eventually one hit him. It found it's place in his vest, blocked by the steel outside of his magazine. He was beginning to run low on ammunition, with thirty-five in the magazine. Ejecting the magazine, he slammed a new magazine into the slot of the gun, withdrawing a Makarov, slipping the safety off and returning to firing. The ejection of the casings were speeding up, and he reloaded the handgun once he had fell slow on the firing.

The upper receiver was taking powerful work from the rest of the gun, firing off rounds as if there were no tomorrow. Imran began to move. He had to get to the Safehouse, and he knew it. He dove through the side window of a car, trying to force it on. Once the collision of the sparking wires worked, he slammed on the pedal, ignoring the seatbelt. He was heading east, towards the Safehouse that he was assigned to strike at. Spinning the wheel lightly, he was being chased by still-running British and Scott troops. The Beret on his head would have fallen off without the vehicle's windshield.

Slamming the vehicle into a halt, it was easily slowing because of the running low fuel. He opens the door, nearly forcefully, once the rubber tires contacted the gravel of the driveway. Withdrawing his AK74u, allied men were already striking throughout the building. The safehouse had a three-story grounding, but it was likely that they had already checked two floors. He slammed the door behind himself, trying to catch his breath. "Major Imran! We are at your disposal, sir!" they call out in Russian. "Okay. Two of you need to monitor the bottom floor.. the rest of you, storm the building and.. check the floors," he finishes, trying to monitor his breathing.

Slinging the AK74u over his shoulder after dropping the stock into the little groove of the gun, he withdrew his Makarov, and began to check throughout the building. There was little to no contact with any hostiles. Stacking his back up to the wall, he twists his body, kicking in the door. Raising his gun up, he had put too much force into the kick, starting to feel his leg getting sore. Beginning to walk through the room, he activates his tactical light on the handgun, before noticing a slip of paper. Walking over to it, he lowered the gun, gripping the piece of paper.

Much to his likes, the paper was a blank check.. how it all began. From the _President of Russia _himself.


	6. Boots On The Ground

_ 2:00 AM EST,_

_Task Force 141 and Navy Seals Joint Op_

_Sergeant Jonathan "Echo" Hartley_

_Operation "Gliding Eagle"_

There had been bold hopes for the troop, and there were very many things they covered. Echo looked up from the ground, which had seemed to be so far away. He saw that it actually was quite far away- about 200 feet. He blinks for a short few moments, then reaching down. He grips the MP5A5 Sub Machine Gun, before taking a magazine from his belt. "All operatives, we are enroute for the support operation. Objective here, is to support the Task Force as much as we can, by keeping all eyes off of us. They are inbound on priority target Peacemaker now."

Echo could have seen that the constant rain was one of the many pummeling thoughts that had struck the ground. Some of the near by brush or shrubbery was destroyed, or torn. Reaching up, the Sergeant looks around to his troops, before nodding to one of his men that were on the other side. Gripping the rope, he let it drape over the steel flooring of the UH-60 Blackhawk. Swinging his leg, he kicks the rope out the door. The Navy Seal operative on the other side mimics his actions. Gripping the rope, he looks out to the distance.

Echo could see the compound quite far off, it was going to be a short while of hiking. Bound in the darkly colored wetsuit, he slides down the rope. He could see another UH-60 dropping off additional troops. "Rendevouz on the ground," was all that he heard. The grip on the rope was lost once he had hit the ground, swinging his 9mm sub machine gun up, pressing the stock into the groove between his collar bone and his arm.

Contracting his knee, he looks to the other man who landed, steadying themselves by placing their hand on Echo's shoulder. "Sergeant," they speak up, in a hushed tone. The Seal was wearing a gas mask. "Yes, Chief?" Echo speaks up. "Why the hell are you in charge?" The CPO mutters. "You haven't fucked with Imran's boys, have you?" he bitterly replies. He knew that much about the Seal's, if they had someone with more experience, then they lead the mission.

Activating the SMG's reciever, he loaded a round into the chamber, having just twisted on the silencer. The next three minutes had concluded with a group of SEAL's following the member of the Task Force. This was considerably a joint operation, that he knew, but he wondered if there might have been anyone else joining them in boots on the ground. He looks over to the group that landed from the next helicopter.

The dense shrubbery was still dissipating with the over-feeding talent of the rain. This wasn't going to provide much cover, he noticed, by the shimmering moonlight. "Let's move, only five hours until we hit sunlight." Echo points down the range. He was coming up on the lead of the operation. This was going to be able to test whether or not he deserved the rank.

His mind was bringing him further back on the situation towards whether or not they had the kid still at base. Alex was a good kid, and he had his intentions. Looking over the laminated page, he was reading the objectives. As soon as his eyes looked over the page, he had noticed it.

_1) Make your way from insertion Alpha to target Charlie._

_2) Link up with Bravo two klicks from touchdown._

_3) Keep all boots on the ground. No medevac can be assigned._

_4) Eliminate Stetchkov's first lieutenant, Kiril Rasputin, to kill off any morale._

_5) Use Rasputin's radio to signature for evacuation, secure any evidence usable against them._

Echo began to lead his men through the puddles and muck of the rain. Beginning to head further towards the slowly rising sun, he was hopiung that they would have enough time. Adjusting the silencer on his MP5A5, he hoped that it was ready. Looking over towards the Chief Petty Officer he was speaking with earlier, he noticed the rifle that the CPO was carrying. "Chief, set up with the LT on the ridge. Maintain your spotter's gear well. Go." For the operation that was to ensue, they were splitting up under callsign Obsidian.

The two men assigned to the job began their way through some of the surviving shrubs along the rocks. Stepping through the muck, he saw the service road that they were going along. Raising his hand and beckoning to the group, he began to lead them further along the road. The compound was not so far after all, though their first obstacle rose. A Jeep containing four men stopped. They heard the commotion. One of them rose their hood over their head, covering themselves from the rain. The other looked around.

The last two of the group of four began to raise their AK-47's upwards, in an idle posture to provide cover for the other two, of whom were likely to be key figures. "Sniper team Shard," he speaks in a hushed whisper, "Fire on the jeep." The timing was precise. A casing flew through the air. The turn that the jeep was idled on was enough to spur a quiver. The round, unexpected by Echo, did not bite the dust. The next couple of moments were absolutely chaotic.

Fire began to spread along the soil with the detonation. Echo was thrown down by shortened shrads of debris, and was also easily targetted by the eventual falling body, which landed on his back. Trying to sling the body over his shoulder, it had been a support gunner by most hopes. The body was contained with a PKP Pecheneg light machine gun, and Echo had used that against them, not by firing it, but using the weight to hide the body.

"All of you. Let's go." He speaks up by the radio. They had to get moving, rather than just standing still for this. They were not prepared for this to happen again, and they were beginning to waste valuable time. "Petty Officers Johnson, Keith, and Marsh, you're on lead of fireteams Methane, Silicon, and Silver. Any Chief not assigned to Shard, Methane, Silicon or Silver, on me." They began to split. The petty officers decided to take their time to figure out their move.

The group of CPO's walked alongside the Sergeant, heading down the road. They had no time to surprise anyone. They were beginning to pick up their speed. "Why the stealth when we're going to hit them head on with a bang?" one of the men decided to speak up. The female operative, CPO December, sighed. "We need all of the advantage for the sudden effect. This will blunt their force and allow us to strike deeper."

"I'm surprised anyone in the Navy's higher ups were able to figure anything out without someone smart as December," one of the other CPO's sighs. They began to move on further down the road, beginning to see the building grow, which was as to their field of vision. They began to speed up further, and Echo was driven into a sprint. "Let's go. Stack up on the doors. Other fireteams are enroute for support with five mikes between." Jon spoke up.

Clearing the distance, with two of the CPO's falling behind, he slid up to the door. Mud surrounded and gathered on his boots. He pressed his shoulder up to the wall. "We're going to need to stop their surveillance." He withdrew the M1911, which had a suppressor wrapped on it, slinging the MP5A5 over his shoulder. Beginning to head over to the edge of the wall, he rose the handgun.

Bringing his eye further up to the firearm's sights, he could see the eventual target, and then began to fire. There was little to no time with the shattering of glass. One of the patrolling troops began to realize that they had to inspect the situation. "Stay down, all of you." Echo murmurs. Lowering the M1911 to not allow it to be seen by any given needs, he heads along the brick wall, past the door, to where the man was rounding.

Withdrawing his blade, he gripped them by the shoulder before they wrapped the corner. "Wh-" he yelped, before the blade dragged it's way through the skin and muscle into his shoulder. Dragging the bleeding Russian infantry past the corner, he took his time dragging the blade through the neck of the Russian. There were little to no means about the situation.

Once he was sure that they were dead, he withdrew the blade from their shoulder, before Echo holsters the blade on his vest. Twisting along the wall, he began to head from the broken light to the door. He tries to open the door, to no avail. "It's locked.. get the boltcutters.." Echo sighs. One of the CPO's withdraws the tool from their pack.

_ 30 Minutes Earlier.._

_1:28 AM EAST_

_Task Force 141_

_Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley_

_"The Big Rigs"_

The others were seeing quite a few problems with the situation. Gripping the M4A1, Ghost looks over to the others. The suppressor was of no use to the Brit, who dropped the suppressor. There was little to nothing about the usage, considering the growing suspicion. They had already been alerted to the squad of the Task Force on the pair of large, connected oil rigs.

The insertion by Littlebird Helicopters had been loud enough. The guns were just adding to the effect. He heads through the walkway, before looking back towards Ozone. "Breach it," he nods, and points Ozone towards the door. The squadmate hits into the door with his shoulder.

Simon hits into the door second, raising his rifle and twisting through the room's many halls and doorways. He was heading through quickly and clean, dropping several targets as he went, whilst Ozone cleared the other set. There was little to no contact with his other squadmates, Soap or Price, not even Toad, Archer, or Roach.

The group came upon a doorway further into the rig, both of them standing infront of it. What they had not expected was the abrupt opening, and the sudden clanking on the ground. "Ghost, frag!" Ozone's voice echoed through the halls as the door slammed. The pin was rolling on the floor by the grenade. The metal was cool. Ghost dove from the wall, before the grenade detonated.

The explosion sent shrapnel through the room, and Ghost was luckily behind the wall by the time it proceeded on it's detonation. Ozone had not been so lucky. Ozone's leg was caught and sliced through, which was a result that he was not hoping for. Ghost looks over towards him, fastening the balaclava, before raising his M4 to the doorway. "I can't move," Ozone grunts, trying to stifle through the pain.

Gripping Ozone by the collar of his kevlar vest, Ghost got Ozone into cover by the wall. Ozone withdrew Ghost's M9 Berretta, their current sidearm for the mission, and slid the silencer in a quick circle to ensure it won't fall off. "Soap, Ozone's hit, I'm all alone down here, respond, dammit!" Ghost growls into the radio.

He was not full of hope, nor happiness at the time.

Gripping Ozone's extended arm, Ghost lifts him up. Ozone slings his arm over Ghost's shoulder, raising the handgun in his free hand. They were going to have to do this properly. "Like conjoined twins," Ozone mutters. Ozone's blood was spreading across the ground. They began to head through the door from which the fragmentation grenade rolled through. Ghost's other hand was holding his M4A1, steadied by his hip.

"Gh-" static ran the message out. "ost," it carried on. "we are.." it began to drag on. "-ot.." It was starting to drive Ghost and Ozone mad. "to be coming.." They knew it cut off one part of the message that was a necessity. The strike on the oil rig would wipe out hostile containment, is what they began to realize. They began to head through the door. They had to get up top, and clear out the rig.

After about five minutes of unexplainable events, the conjoiuned duo of soldiers began to head further upwards on the stairway. It was meant to find their way out, not bringing them further down, which was luckily what they were not doing. They headed through one of the side-accesses, before coming up to a door. Ozone was set down in front of the door, up against the wall with the handgun held in the direction of the door. The pressure applied on the door was enough to free it from it's prison of hinges.

Ghost hit the wall right beside the door, gripping Ozone and helping him up. They were about to get their way up to the top level of the oil rig. A man ran across the catwalk connecting the two oil rigs, holding a MP5K Sub Machine Gun, with a grip and Eotech mount. They began to beckon to Ghost and Ozone, "Come on!" They grip Ozone's other arm, slinging his other arm over their shoulder.

"Pull the helicopter down! Now!" The operative, who turned out to be Roach, was speaking into their radio. The helicopter, a UH-60 helicopter coming up, had the back door open. A figure inside was holding an AK-47. This alarmed Ghost, who raised his M4, before they semi-ducked, a man getting shot through the head behind them. The man who was shot fell down the stairs, turning up to be a Russian infantryman. The figure carrying the rifle came further over to the group, reaching his hand out.

The last thing they saw for the couple of moments was Ozone almost losing his grip to fall, into the cold sea below, and Roach and Ghost mounting the helicopter, then holding up their friend.

They made it. "Nikolai, we're enroute to site Whiskey to support the Seals." Soap spoke up. It was going to be a long ride.


	7. One In The Chamber

"Keep moving, they will be down there for us to help out, boys. Lock and load, lads. Echo's down there, and so's Kiril. Ropes out the door." Soap speaks up, looking to Price, who tightened the gas-mask and then kicked the nylon rope out of the door, gripping it and mounting the rope, beginning to slide downwards.

_2:05 AM EST_

_Task Force 141 and Navy Seals Joint Op_

_Sergeant Jonathan "Echo" Hartley_

_Operation "Gliding Eagle" _

_ Continuation_

Echo looked back to see that the door was properly gone through. Gripping his MP5A5 by the handguard, his other arm reaching to his vest, his muscles tensed. The boltcutters cut through the chains around the door. The gleaming metal hit the ground in the water, causing a splash. His hands caught around a flashbang, he prepared it for the upcoming breach. Once the Seal kicked the door in, he threw the flashbang through, underhand.

The grenade struck against the ground before it's detonation filled the room with a bright light. The group of men inside of the room started shouting and some started crying. The man in the front of the line against the wall on the side of the Seals turns to the side, aiming behind the group as they enter. Echo fired upon one of them who was grasping for an AK74u. The men inside were highly armed, it seemed. They had more of the weapons stowed away and loaded, upon the regret of the CPO on the scene.

Echo looks over towards one of the men, then to the window. He heads through the door and raises the suppressed gun before he heads in. "Split up. I'd recommend you six get into three groups of twos. I'll go on alone, and if I'm in trouble, beam you on the radio." He begins to head through the doorway further, before hugging to the shadow. One of the patrols had not heard the ruckus.

His voice was hushed as he called out into his radio, "Sniper element Shard, fire on grid square Four Niner Alpha," his voice was beginning to make the suspicious patrol wonder. Before they could see him in the darkness, a round flew through the window. The bullet slammed through the glass, sending it around the floor, before blood sprayed all over the wall, some in the shadow, and some that aren't.

The wild splattering was enough to spur a inspection from the other member of the patrol. The urban-camoflauged infantry began heading through the room. Rather than a ski-mask and helmet, the rank was signified by the ski-mask and beret. Raising his AK47, he had already seen Echo. Before his opposition had a chance to fire, Echo fired off seven rounds, hitting the target in his groin, chest, and ribcage.

Gripping and swinging the combatant through the window with the use of the stock of their AK-47, he had held onto the gun for too long, watching as the foe was ripped through the window, leaving Echo carrying the rifle. He set it down on the other body, which had been eliminated by a sniper rifle. "Save your time. No coverup." He whispers into the radio, before carrying on through the hallway. He looks down towards the laminated paper, using the glinting light.

The map of the compound he had acquired from the man that was eliminated by the rifleman of Fireteam Shard. Heading further into the hallway, he raises the Sub Machine Gun, before firing off two rounds. They had managed to lead their way into the collarbone of one target, whom had instantly fell to the floor with the broken bones in their body. He swung the stock into their head to ensure they could not wake up after a short bit of time.

Echo gripped at the body and tried to prop it up to the wall. Withdrawing his USP Match, with a suppressor, he clicks off the safety. To create insurance, he rose the barrel of the handgun to the head of the Russian, resting the barrel on the beret that he wore, he fired a round off, causing minor leakage of blood and cranial matter. He couldn't help but realize how brutal his actions were becoming. With that he holstered the USP, clicking the safety off whilst it found its' way into the holster.

Raising the MP5A5, he began to head down through the hallway. He could not let himself get sidetracked. Kiril was his priority. He looked to the stairwell. The others could clear the compound themselves. He checked himself over for any more ammunition that he could use in his MP5, but noticed that he had barely any. He decided to save it, before continuing up the stairs. There was a location at the second to the top floor, and he though Kiril could be there. It was a low hope. He began to head further up. "Echo, we are enroute to your position. Disembarking from our helicopter transport now. We'll hit the roof and head down from there. Soap out." He could hear the faint Scottish voice.

Echo began moving room-to-room. He had cleared out about three rooms with nine combatants spread throughout them, seemingly clearing the living spaces before they would leave or some such activity. He continued further and further, before he reached a quite large pair of doors. They were both up against eachother, signifying they both lead into one room. If he were to time this right..

The time flew by, as he realized there was no time for timing. He head russian voices on the inside. Footsteps had began to move through the room. He couldn't get the door open. Raising a breaching charge, he pressed it onto the door, half-way inbetween both of the topmost panels. He swung to the wall sluggishly, detonating the charge. Shrapnel and debris carried it's way around the room.

From the defense and loving cover of the nook in the wall, he slung his way out, raising the small automatic weapon as he entered the room. Everything was moving slow, there was a lack of adrenaline as a fist collided with his face. He had fired off one round, killing one of the others in the room. He tried to keep himself from firing off any more ammo before swinging the figure attempting to hold him down off with the stock of the MP5.

Rushing to his feet, he had been steps away from getting the MP5 before he was grabbed and shoved down by none other than, of course, Kiril Rasputin. Kiril was wearing similar to the military garbs of his men, with no helm or beret, nor a ski-mask. Kiril was struggling to keep Echo down. Echo looks over briefly to the side, where a flashbang rolled out, with it's primer active.

He stopped fighting Kiril, before shoving him up briefly with his legs, and then began his tactic of covering his ears and eyes with both arms, letting the grenade detonate. The luck that it had not been lethal, but the sudden surprise of changing his plan and the sudden "BANG!" and white light, Kiril was in a daze. Echo pushed to his feet, constriction of his blood not paying it's own note, and then slung Kiril down.

Kiril was beginning to fight back quite brutally, slamming him to a wall and even headbutting him several times. With a bloody mouth and broken nose, Echo gripped him and threw him towards a table. Kiril gripped a bottle of alcohol from the table, before slamming it upside Echo's head, shattering the bottle. The Sergeant was trying to recover from the blood gushing and the damage caused by the shard of glass stuck in the side of his cheek and the one stuck in his collar bone, before Kiril almost brought it down on him again.

A round flew through the air as a figure kicked through the window. The round spurred through Kiril's spine, passing through the many ringed segments before finding it's way through his skull, instantly killing Kiril on impact. Echo gripped the broken body by the collar, and slung him off, starting to cough up blood, trying to remove the glass shard from his cheek.

In succession, he feared to move on to the shard of glass that was in his collarbone. "We need a medic," the familiar voice of Roach was welcoming. He was beginning to succumb to the depths of unconsciousness. "Ghost, Price, head through the building and check for any of the Navy, or any stragglers." Soap points to the door.

Soap, after that, grips Echo's arm, followed by Roach grabbing the other arm, "We'll get you up to the roof for extraction VIA Medevac." Roach nods to Echo, who was beginning to daze out. The group began to head further out of the room, then up to the stairway. They reached the roof, which had a beginning-to-land UH-60 Blackhawk, with the words "WAR MACHINE" painted over the side door in bright red-and-blue letters.

The voice of three Marines were enough to realize that Echo was going to be fine. One of them grabbed both of Echo's legs, the other went with Roach and Soap once they let Echo down, heading down the stairs were the Task Force duo, before the other Marine gripped his arms and hauled him into the helicopter with the support of the other Marine. "Alright, you're gonna be.." was all that Echo heard once his consciousness faded, and his breathing began to steady. .

((Oh look, another cutscene.))

There were minimal arrays of notice before Roach and Soap came over the room with Kiril's body. "You, Marine. What is your rank?" They ring out a question. "Private First Class," the Marine responds with a respectful tone in their voice. "Tag the body, and get moving back to the others so we can get our guy extracted. Another helicopter will be coming shortly for us. Roach and I are going to be heading through the bloody building for whatever we can find and tag."


	8. Homefront

Note from the Author: I would like to thank you all for reading this far in 141: Hunting Stetchkov. I can see many of you are reading from various differing countries, such as Czech and more. I thank those of you. I have many thanks to ChiefArmourer, whom was the writer of the Shepherd Diaries, who's been a great deal of inspiration recently for me to write this.

"They've breached through the border! Russian paratroopers are striking on America!" a voice rang out, from the radio. A male was sitting at a seat, lighting his cigarette. The whiff was enough to spark the interest of a green-eyed teenager, who grabbed a vest, which was a bullet-proof vest. The elderly figure in the seat nods, before offering the boy a rifle magazine. The magazine was fittable into a M14 rifle, from the year of the Vietnam war. The boy loads a 5.56x round into the chamber, fitting the rifle.

_4:23 AM EST_

_Pvt. Kristopher Suhrbier_

_American Militiaman – Civilian_

_Callsign "Kilo-1"_

_Jacksonville, Florida_

_"Operation Homefront"_

Kristopher grips the gun. The rifle was old, and the handguard was actually made of wood. He toys with the rifle for a short few seconds, before looking to his grandfather. The man in the chair was his grandfather, a white-haired man, who had seemingly little time to live and little to live for. His grandfather fixes the cigarrette on his lip, before speaking up in a gruff, german accent. "Kristopher, you need to go. Make your pa proud, little man." He speaks up. The tone was saddening to hear for Kristopher, who nods to his grandfather, fixing the patrol cap on his head. The cap was olive green, and fit in well with the long-sleeve shirt and drab olive pants he wore.

He looks up towards the sky. There they were, right on time. A helicopter was dropping off a group of infantrymen from the National Guard. They were there to support and try to suppress the threat looming from the Russian paratroopers. The helicopter was a UH-60 Blackhawk, which had began to fly away. Kris looks over towards one of the Guardsmen, before heading over. He had the rifle held down and aimed at the ground, in an alert carry.

He did not want to come off as hostile to the group that had just fastroped into the area. They look over towards him. One of the guardsmen raises their M16A4 towards the boy, placing their finger towards the trigger. Kris raises his hands lightly, gun still in his grasp. "Friendly," he speaks up, asserting his position in this. "Gun down, Charles," the man who seemed to be in charge, an African American individual, speaks up. The tone wasn't deep as Kris expected.

He grips the gun, and pulls back the bolt, loading a round into the assault rifle. Kris looks around at the Guardsmen. "I'm from the local Militia," Kristopher speaks up. The man who loaded his M16A4 seemed to be gruff. "See? Kid's on our side," the leading man spoke up. "What's your rank, sir?" Kris asks the individual. "I'm a Sergeant, boy," they speak in return.

"Sir, we need to move." One of the guardsmen notices the individuals leaping from their plane at the time. Kristopher crouches, turning and raising the rifle towards the direction of the men activating their parachutes. He raises his eye up to the sight of the rifle, before firing. The round tore through the air, beginning to lose momentum as it stalled, but it bore right into the chest and head of a Russian paratrooper. The round tore past his skull, and bore into the parachute. The ragged fabric slung him around sluggishly, sending him into another inbound paratrooper.

Kristopher began to look towards the national guardsman who rose his rifle towards Kris, "Damn, I'm sorry, kid," they speak up. "What's the plan, sir?" Kris asks, seemingly compliant with the Sergeant. "We need to meet up with a group out on Willsfelt boulevarde," the Sergeant speaks up. "I know the way," Kris nods. "We need a vehicle, though," the man who rose the rifle, a Corporal, spoke up. "Trigger," the Sergeant speaks up, smacking the Corporal upside the head, "We don't need a vehicle, that's a liability. A pursuit of luck." The Sergeant speaks up. "Jameson, sir," the Corporal whines.

"Let's fucking move, Corporal." Jameson bitterly replies. "What's your name, kid?" the man asks. "Kristopher, sir," he speaks up to the Sergeant. Jameson nods, "Kristopher, does your militia have any vehicles we can commandeer?" he continues. "Yes, sir, there are two jeeps. We have no weaponry on them or with them, though. I think the militiamen who are still alive are still fighting their way past Willsfelt, we might be able to get them to help if we see anyone." Kris appoints his mind to the situation. "Well, let's move."

It was not much like going throughout a jungle to be going through the endless reign of asphalt and houses that was a neighborhood after another neighborhood, which was just about enoguh for him to put up with before he realized they were going to be walking for a while. He saw one of the Militia jeeps, with the back covered by a tarp. "Over here," Kristopher beckons them towards the vehicle. The heavy weapons' specialist unhinges his bipod from the M249 Saw he carried. "Alright, move the tarp some," Jameson orders Trigger, who does so. The heavy attatches his gun to the jeep by the roof. Kris steps into the driver's seat.

He tries to jumpstart the vehicle to almost no avail. He begins to twist his key in the vehicle, hoping that it will recieve the transmission. By the group's luck, it turned on. Trigger and the Corpsman get into the vehicle, along with Jameson in the passenger seat. Trigger and the Corpsman were in the back by the turret-gunman. The acceleration was key on the vehicle, as they began to head along the road. Kris, nor Jameson cared of their seatbelt at the time. "The Russian forces are being deployed on land with Semi Trucks, Kris," Jameson speaks up.

It was going to be interesting, and useful, to know that they were even on land. It was not going to be much of ah elp to consider the fact they would be most easily encountered getting their vehicle rammed constantly as part of the general effect of the line. They began to head further along the curb to the right. "If we hang to the right for three more turns and make the sharp left, we should hit Willsfelt," Kristopher speaks to Jameson, focusing barely on driving. His M14 was kept inbetween his legs.

As the vehicle continued some on the asphalt road, Kristopher was trying to get the jeep to make the right turns constantly, having to back up and what-not to deal with it. The gunner was the first one to yell as they hit the left turn. "T-90!" Jameson calls out, as the group abandons the vehicle. Kris grips his M14 and begins to follow the group from the national guard, huddled in a building. Kris sets the M14 down leaning on the wall. "Do any of you have a M67 Fragmentation grenade?" He asks, looking around. Trigger withdraws the grenade, holding his hand out, offering the grenade to Kristopher.

Kristopher grips the explosive, "I know what you're doing, and we don't know why you think it will work.." Kris withdrew a small clay-like brick, beginning to carefully segment it, before taping it over the M67, with a sticky bit applied, creating a home-made semtex. He begins to rush out, "Don't come out!" He yells back to them. The T-90 was patrolling along the street. Despite the small speed, he was having some trouble catching up to the tank.

He jumps, into a bit of a lunge, managing to grip the edge of the tank's rear. He throws his arm up, getting his way up there by sheer luck. Managing to recover from the staggering movement, he heads over to the door of the tank, releasing the pin of the home-made Semtex, opening up the trap-door on the top of the tank, throwing it in. There was enough strips of C4 wrapped around it to make a blast.

Kristopher begins running towards the house, jumping off of the tank and rolling as he continues running. The tank detonates as it fired a shell out of the barrel, at the house. Kris was sent falling down, before Trigger rushes over, reaching a hand down. "You are one suicidal little boy.." Jameson sighs. Kris was still staggered a little from the blow.

Jameson sets down his radio, tweaking it. "Seven-four, requesting allied troops and air-support on grid Alpha, Niner, X-ray," he begins speaking up as Kris sits down by his M14, trying to pull a bit of shrapnel from his leg, having been hit, wincing, trying not to cry as he tries to drag it out with his hand.


End file.
